


A Girl's Got to Have a Plan

by tosca1390



Category: West Wing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-10
Updated: 2011-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-14 15:53:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I can’t lounge around Manchester indefinitely. A girl’s got to have a plan.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Girl's Got to Have a Plan

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-series. Written for West Wing Secret Santa at LiveJournal.

*

Donna packed in a methodical, precise method (rolling jeans to save space, sweaters and delicates on top). It had driven Paul (or, as she’d begun to think of him as every since Josh coined it all those months ago, Dr. Freeride) absolutely nuts. Josh found it precious, endearing.

She shut her eyes, leaning against the edge of the bed for a moment. _Stop it, Donna_.

It was the day after the election. Governor Bartlet had won, and Donna knew what happened next. She had overheard enough from Josh and Sam and the rest of them to know. Transition was a marathon at a sprint pace, and there were so many jobs to fill, to prepare—

She wasn’t a part of it anymore.

It only made sense, after all. Certainly, Josh had found her valuable, and she was perfectly equipped for the pace and demands of the campaign, but the White House? Josh would have plenty of qualified and eager people to fill his staff from; she couldn’t truly compete. She’d forced herself into this job in the first place; he could have free reign now.

Perhaps he’d write her a letter of recommendation. Or CJ could help her find a place with Emily’s List, or—

“Donna! Donnatella Moss!”

She rolled her eyes as Josh strolled into the hotel room she and CJ had been sharing for their last two days in Manchester. He looked young, energetic, bright-eyed; the conquering hero of the Democratic Party, and she couldn’t help but be proud of him.

“Didn’t you hear me?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“People in Florida could hear you, Josh,” she said calmly, her fingers smoothing her blue cashmere sweater.

“Why didn’t you answer?”

“Because I’m not a heathen.”

He grinned boyishly. “You don’t look very happy for having won a presidential election, Donna.”

The smile was infectious; she couldn’t help but smile back before turning back to her suitcase. Her hair fell over her shoulder and across her cheek. “I am, don’t worry.”

A weird silence settled over the room. She fixed her eyes on the pools of pale November sunlight covering the floor. They weren’t ever quiet together, always quick with words and barbs and statistics; and now he was going to tell her what she already knew, and there were no words for it.

It was a shame, she thought, her fingers absently moving from sweater to sweater. She had never felt so capable, so respected as she did here, with these impassioned, whip-smart people; and now, to have to leave them—

“Are you packing?”

Startled, she looked at him. Hands stuffed into his jeans, his shoulders were tense, a stiff line; his face, rarely, was unreadable. “Yes, Josh.”

He pushed off the door frame towards her. “Why?”

She fixed a look at him, because really? “I can’t lounge around Manchester indefinitely. A girl’s got to have a plan.”

His brow furrowed faintly. “You don’t want to stay?”

For a man with SAT scores like his, he was incredibly dense. “Josh, it’s fine,” she says evenly. “I know how this goes.”

He looked confused for a moment more before his mouth curled into a crooked grin. “I didn’t know you were experienced in national campaigns, Donna.”

“You are insufferable,” she retorted, layering another sweater into her suitcase.

Abruptly, he was at her side, placing a lean hand over her packing efforts. “You can’t go,” he said, a smile in his voice. “Remember last time? I couldn’t find anything.”

She sighed, glancing over at him. “So I should wander around pathetically until someone takes me in? I’ve done that once before, thanks.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault the Flenders took to you,” he said with a grin.

Sometimes, she hated him. She smacked his arm and he only smiled more widely. “Donna, you’re coming with me.”

“With you where?” she asked, genuinely intrigued.

“The White House.”

She blinked, mouth falling faintly agape. Smirking, he took her hands from her packing and pulled her away from the bed. “I know a good thing when I see it. I’m not completely inept. Despite what CJ and everyone else may tell you.”

“Or what I found out for myself,” she retorted. He still had her hands in his, a loose hold; she could feel a blush on the back of her neck.

He thought on that for a moment, shrugging. “In any case, you’re coming to the White House. With all of us.”

For the first time since waking up this morning, Donna felt the stirrings of promise, of anticipation for the future. “If you insist,” she said finally, unable to contain her smile.

He squeezed her hands and let go. “The fun hasn’t even started yet, Donnatella.”

“Looking forward to it,” she said dryly, following him as he walked to the door. She had a feeling she wouldn’t have made it out of the hotel lobby anyway.

*


End file.
